Endings and Beginnings

I miss writing about Eric.  For those of you who are new to me and my writing, Eric was my younger brother who died on December 8, 2009.  His death was sudden and unexpected and turned my world inside out.  I have written all about it in another blog, 366 Days of Eric.  In that blog I challenged myself to write about him for 366 days, and now that time period is over.  I knew I would miss the writing which is why I started this blog.  I didn’t realize how much I would miss writing about him.

Luckily, I’m not done writing about him.  I have given myself license to write about anything in this blog, so he is still fair game.  I also met with an editor this week and together we are going to try and turn that blog into a book.  It’s going to be a lot of work and a long process, but I am really excited about it.

I started reading some of my earliest posts the other night, something I had not gone back and done.  It’s going to be very emotional for me to go through them all, but I think in the end, it will be worth it.  I’ll let you all know how it goes.

Having It All

I am feeling a little defeated today.  One week back at work and things at home are already starting to slide.  I can’t seem to get it together in both places at once.  I am starting to really resent the feminists who told me I could have it all.

When I was at home I still couldn’t figure out how to do everything I wanted to do.  I could just never seem to make a “real” dinner--the definition of “real” being not chicken nuggets, hot dogs, pizza or macaroni and cheese.  Still, I was on top of all school forms, the laundry got done (although not always folded in a timely manner), school lunches were made, the baby got fed and bathed, I even got fed and bathed most days.

Yesterday I got an email thanking me for my support for the older boys’ camp and telling me that because of it all the camp towels are sold out!  Except I haven’t turned my order form in yet.  Crap!

This morning I realized that I did get all of our family members to pledge Sam for his summer reading challenge, but that the form was due back yesterday and it’s still sitting on my kitchen counter.  Double crap!

I also realized this morning that when the baby leaked poop on my skirt yesterday I washed it and it was still in the washing machine.  Triple crap!

Now I know the boys will get over not having official camp towels and the school will accept a late summer reading form, and my skirt will be fine, but I hate that I fell down on the job.  And I hate that I got sold a bill of goods that staying home wasn’t a job, wasn’t good enough and that I had to do something else.  Somehow, even though my mom stayed home, it never occurred to me that I would or that I would want to.  I was supposed to work, it’s what a modern woman does. 

I have an amazing husband.  He does the grocery shopping and until I was home these last few months, the laundry as well.  We make it all work, but I want better than making it all work.  I want it to run smoothly.  I don’t want to remember at 8:00 at night when I haven’t had dinner and the baby is screaming from hunger that the school lunches aren’t made and Toby’s uniform for the next day’s Taekwondo class is not in his bag.

I need a wife.  Oh wait, that’s my job.

Hi Ho the Dairy-O

The pump.  Men, you might want to stop reading here. 

Every working/nursing mom I know has a love-hate relationship with their pump.  We love that it’s possible to still breast feed our children even though we have to be at work.  We hate the actual pumping.  It’s not just the pumping, it’s the disruption of the work day, the difficulty of finding a place to pump, trying to keep the milk cold, pouring it into those tiny little freezer bags once you get home without spilling a drop and washing all the equipment every night.  It’s the worry that you might not be pumping enough, that you won’t be able to replace everything your child eats.  It’s the fear that you and the little munchkin might get off schedule and you’ll have just pumped and he’ll need to eat when you get home and you won’t have anything left.

This is the third time I am doing this.  I have pumped in many other people’s offices since I have never had my own (still don’t). I have pumped in OR locker rooms and ophthalmology exam rooms.  This time I get to pump most of the time in a bathroom.  Yes, a bathroom.  It’s literally the only place I can go and lock the door in the entire office.

I want my son to have the benefits of breast milk.  It’s economical to pump since we don’t have to buy formula.  I love that I can still nurse him when we are home together.  It’s just all the logistics that are daunting.

As with the other kids, I’ll do this as long as I can.  I know it will get harder and harder.  Eventually the milk supply will start slowing down and I’ll start beating myself up about it and the stress of pumping will outweigh the benefits of continuing to breastfeed.  Until then you can find me in the bathroom every three hours.

It's Better to be an Infant

Top ten reasons it’s better to be an infant:

10. You don’t have to go to work.

9. Your clothes and your pajamas are interchangeable and both supremely comfortable.

8. You don’t remember bad things that may have happened so everyday is a good day.

7. You can well, umm, eliminate, anywhere you please and someone else has to clean it up.

6. If you fall asleep in the car your whole bed gets moved with you when you reach your destination.

5. You can scream and cry whenever you want.

4. Everybody tells you how beautiful you are.

3. You can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, in any position and never wake up stiff and sore.

2. You never have a bad hair day.

And the number one reason it’s good to be an infant:

Your thighs are supposed to be chunky.

Choice Regrets

I have to go back to work tomorrow and I don’t want to.  I feel like a toddler who wants to throw a temper tantrum only I have enough will power not to throw myself on the floor and scream.  Just barely.

When we first moved to Charlotte I was home with both older boys for a month before I started work.  They were 3 ½ and 9 months and I went crazy.  We had no schedule, I didn’t know where anything was and if I did I couldn’t get there with Charlotte’s crazy road naming system (or lack there-of) and I was trying to unpack and organize our new house.  I couldn’t wait to get to work.  My attitude has changed over the years.  

I always thought the time I’d want to be home was when the kids were babies, but actually I’m feeling guiltier about working with a school age child.  Even though I only work part-time, my schedule limits his when it comes to play dates and after school activities.  I can’t volunteer in his school as much as some of the other mothers.  I don’t get to know the other mothers well. 

I have loved being home these past three months.  Even with the laundry, the making of school lunches, the cleaning and (rarely) cooking, I have loved it.  I can get Sam from the school bus everyday.  I can go into his school and volunteer more.  I can get Toby early from his school and volunteer there more.  I can exercise almost everyday without having to get up at some ungodly hour.  I can snuggle with Drew whenever I want.  With a little more practice I might even be able to plan meals and provide something a little healthier than hot dogs and chicken nuggets every night.

Unfortunately I can’t stay home.  My husband and I planned our lives on two incomes and that mortgage won’t allow me to stay home.  It’s a choice I made, a choice I never thought I would regret after working so hard through medical school, residency and fellowship.

Since I’m not a toddler I don’t have the luxury of throwing a tantrum.  I will organize the frozen breast milk and sterilize the bottles today.  Tomorrow morning I will get up early, shower and dress professionally.  I will grab my work bag and the breast pump and drive the preschool carpool and then go to work instead of back home.  I might cry, but I’ll make it.

And then I’ll do it again Tuesday and be grateful that I only work part-time.  I can’t wait until Thursday when I can be home all day.

Potty Talk

Why is it so hard for my children to go to the bathroom when they need to?  Does anyone else out there have this problem? 

I’m giving Drew a pass, three months seems a little early to potty train…

Sam, my oldest, took forever to potty train.  At one point when he was 3 ½ we made the mistake of threatening to put him back in diapers--he was thrilled.  Oops.  He remained in diapers until he turned 4 and still had regular accidents into kindergarten.  I know all kids are different and some take longer than others but I don’t understand why he resisted it so strongly.  If he was doing the potty dance, (I know you all know what that is), we would suggest he go to the bathroom.  I thought that was a pretty normal response.  He would throw a fit, refuse to go and then have an accident.  ARGH!

Toby actually potty trained much more easily.  After swearing that I was just going to leave him in diapers until he was 7, I ended up training him at 2 ½ because he started kicking me during diaper changes.  2 ½ year olds are strong, those kicks hurt!  We threw him a party and took him out to the backyard on a gorgeous spring day with no pants and lots of water and juice.  He got it almost immediately. 

Still, both boys will wait until the absolute last second before they decide to go.  They don’t want to interrupt what they are doing and I get that, but at some point I would think the pain from bladder extension and the inability to sit still would interfere with the enjoyment of their tasks.  Apparently I am wrong because both still refuse to go at my suggestion.

The other night they were watching TV before bed and I could tell Toby had to go.  I suggested multiple times that he do this, I offered to pause the TV, he wouldn’t have had to miss a thing.  He denied feeling a need.  As soon as it was time for bath, both boys were suddenly desperate and fighting over the toilet.  It’s not like we only have one, we just only have one upstairs and both boys wanted it at the same time.  Toby grudgingly agreed to use one downstairs and assured me that he “made it”.  I found out later through wet socks that he didn’t.

My mother would say I bear some responsibility for this given that I was similar as a child.  I think I once lost a trip to Burger King (my favorite restaurant!) because I refused to go and wet my pants. 

So maybe it’s normal but boy is it frustrating--especially when Toby did the same thing the next night!

Sam’s preschool teacher once told me that he would be potty trained before he went to college and that the timing of it wouldn’t be on the application.  That was good advice, it calmed me down at the time, but it’s easy for her to take the long view.  She’s not the one doing the laundry.

The Beginning

I never thought I would be the mother of three boys.  My plan was always to have three kids.  I would have one of each gender (I didn’t care the order) and then another girl for good measure.  Life had different plans.  I have three children but they are all little men.  This blog is about my life and my boys, including my husband and my brother.

I work part time as an ophthalmologist and between work and the boys life is always crazy.  Let me introduce you.

The first boy in my life (aside from my father) was my brother Eric. He died suddenly in December of 2009 at age 32.  There is a whole year long blog dedicated to my brother at http://www.366daysoferic.blogspot.com/.  This one is going to be more about me, but he will still make appearances.

Next came my husband Mike.  We met when we were both college students and he supported me through the med school application process as well as med school, residency, temporary infertility, and everything else that has come along.  He is still supporting me.  I could do none of this without him.

Our oldest son is Sam, a precocious 7 ½ year old who is sweet and sensitive and eager to please. 

Next is Toby, a stubborn and independent 4 ½ year old who is too cute for his own good. 

Finally our newest addition is Drew, a cuddly 3 month old who makes me smile just by being there. 

This is my last week of maternity leave and my crazy life is only going to get crazier as work gets put back into the mix.

Join me as I tell you all about it and hopefully this outlet will keep me only a little manic.